Meant With Love
by The Yankee Countess
Summary: The Branson children decide to give their parents a wonderful Valentine's Day surprise! Only it doesn't go according to plan. Not in the slightest. Part of the 2016 Sybil x Tom Valentine Exchange, based on a prompt by magfreak!
1. Chapter 1

_HERE IT IS! My (very) belated Valentine story for the Sybil x Tom Valentine Exchange-and for **magfreak!** Her prompt was simply, the Branson children wish to give their parents a Valentine's Day surprise, like making them dinner...and it all goes to hell. ;o) I couldn't pass this up! And yes *sigh* it's going to be two-parts (I couldn't stop myself from writing on and on about domestic!Bransons) :oP_

 _A quick note! This story imagines the Bransons moving to Boston (after the events of S5)-Tom got a job writing at the_ Boston Globe _, while Sybil is working as a midwife. Sybbie is their oldest (born in 1920) therefore she is 15 in this story. They have four other children: Peter (who is 12, and the last child born outside of America), twin girls Colleen and Patricia (age 9, born in America) and finally, little Michael, who is roughly 18 months. This story is, for the most part, told from the perspectives of the children, which made it a lot of fun! I hope you adore the Branson kids here; I certainly enjoyed writing them! And thank you for your patience with me and my writing; I will work very hard to get part 2 finished soon, but in the meantime, I do hope you enjoy this little belated valentine :o)_

* * *

 **Meant With Love**  
 _ **a valentine story for magfreak**_  
by The Yankee Countess

 **PART ONE**

 _Boston, 1936_

Like Roman generals surveying a desolate wasteland, so stood the Branson children, huddled together, their faces weary from battle…only they weren't the conquerors, but the conquered. And the wasteland was none other than their family kitchen.

The once white cabinets that framed the kitchen's oven had been blackened and charred. Smoke still billowed from said oven, and no matter how many windows they opened, there was still a rancid smell emanating from that particular corner of the kitchen.

The sink was overflowing with filthy pots and pans, and a large, soapy puddle had developed just below. The oldest Branson girl held her youngest brother close, ignoring his squirming, because she didn't dare put him down. Where there wasn't water, broken dishes littered the floor, as well as burnt vegetables and raw dough.

How had this happened? Where had it all started to go wrong? _WHY_ had it gone wrong? These were the questions the five Branson children were asking themselves as they assessed the damage done to their family's kitchen.

Tears welled up in their eyes, but not for themselves. While they knew their parents would be furious (and there was no escaping the inevitable punishment), they were saddened more by the fact that their plans to give their parents a much-deserved Valentine's Day treat had backfired in their faces (quite literally). A treat that was not only meant to honor all the hard work their parents had done, but to also… _save_ their marriage.

But now what? Was all hope completely lost?

No time to ponder the answer to that question; the Branson children froze and stared in horror as the house's front door began to open…

* * *

 _Earlier that week…_

"Do you think Mam and Da are weird?"

Sybbie Branson's brow furrowed at her brother's question. "What?"

Peter Branson didn't meet his sister's eyes. Instead he kept them focused on the tin can he had been kicking ever since they had left school. "Billy says they're weird," he mumbled.

Sybbie rolled her eyes at the mention of her brother's friend. "Billy also thinks the capital of America is New York City—I don't think you should pay a great deal of attention to anything he says."

Peter now lifted his eyes to his sister and glared at her. "Billy says it's weird."

 _"What's_ weird?" Sybbie demanded, exasperation growing in her tone.

"Mam and Da!" Peter answered, his tone every bit as exasperated as hers. "He says it's weird…the way they're always going on with each other."

Sybbie actually stopped walking and turned to face her brother head on. He was growing like a bean pole, but for the time being, he still remained shorter than her, not that she needed height to feel superior to her brother. "'Going on' with each other?" she repeated, her tone now sounding bored (though slightly irritated as well).

"You know…" Peter mumbled, his voice lowering, though there wasn't anyone around them. "Always…hugging and kissing…" his face grew red with embarrassment with each mumbled word.

Sybbie just rolled her eyes (in a rather dramatic fashion) and gave her head a bit of a dismissal flip. "So what?"

Peter frowned, though it was more of a frown of confusion. "But Billy's parents aren't like that! Not all the time, at least."

Sybbie snorted, which only caused her brother to scowl. "According to Billy, his father says it's 'unnatural' for a man to kiss his wife the way Da does."

"Oh stop it," Sybbie snapped, no longer seeing any humor in this ridiculous conversation. "There's nothing wrong with Mam or Da—they're not 'weird' and it's not 'unnatural'. Da loves Mam and she loves him and that's why they hug and kiss so much."

"But..." Peter was making a face at the thought. "Doesn't that…bother you?"

Sybbie groaned and gave another dismissive eye-roll, before turning and continuing on their journey home, not bothering to even dignify her brother's question with an answer. As for Peter, he scowled at his sister's retreating back, hating how she would always do that whenever she didn't agree with him.

Less than ten minutes later, they were walking up the steps that led to their Boston bungalow, Sybbie entering the house first and calling out, "we're home!" before proceeding to move up the stairs that led to the children's bedrooms. Peter waited at the door, waiting to hear his mother answer back at the very least, if not appear and move towards him with her usual "welcome home from school" hug which she always gave to them when she was there…but there was no answer.

Frowning, Peter called out, "Mam? We're home!" Still nothing.

Suddenly the door behind him burst open and Peter was nearly knocked to the ground and trampled by two pairs of overactive feet. "MAM! We're home!" shouted to voices in unison, neither one taking notice of their brother who was glaring at them.

"I already called out to her!" he hissed at them. "And watch where you're going!"

"Watch where you're standing!" Colleen Branson retorted.

"Yeah, Peter, you should know better than to block the door," Patricia Branson added, a smug smile spreading across her face.

Colleen and Patricia Branson were twins, but only in the sense that they had both been born on the same day, less than an hour apart. Like all the Branson children, they had blue eyes, but that was about it in terms of physical likeness. Colleen was fair, with powder-white skin and flaxen-colored hair. According to their father, she looked like one of his sisters, who had similar coloring. As for Patricia, she was freckled, with brown hair that was much lighter than that of her other siblings (save Colleen, obviously). Again, according to their father, she looked like another sister of his. No one ever believed upon first meeting the twins that they were in fact, twins, but Peter always felt that if someone was left alone with them long enough, they would soon realize that the likeness between the two girls had nothing to do with physical appearance, and everything to do with their mischievous natures. And nothing delighted either of his sisters more, than to vex their brother.

"Where is Mam?" Colleen asked, dropping her schoolbag. Before waiting for a reply, she dashed down the corridor that led to the kitchen, shouting as she went, "MAM!?"

"She's not here," Peter muttered, his ears ringing slightly from Colleen's shout.

"How do you know?" Patricia countered, also dropping her schoolbag and giving her brother a skeptical look.

"She would have answered by now!" he snapped back.

"Maybe she's in the bathroom?"

"Or maybe she's not here?"

Patricia rolled her eyes. "Did you check the bathroom?"

Peter made a face. "Why would I check the bathroom?"

"To see if Mam is in there!" Patricia rolled her eyes, as if she believed him to be stupid.

"I'm not going to poke my head—"

"She's not here!" Colleen's voice rang out, running back to where the others were still standing. In her hands she carried a note that had been left for them. "Says she was called away to help Mrs. Donnelly; says that Michael is next door with Mrs. Magnusson and that we can each have a chocolate biscuit except Peter."

 _"WHAT?"_ Peter snatched the note out of his sister's hands. "Where does it—" he scanned the note and then heard his sisters giggling and realized that Colleen was teasing him. "Ha, ha, hilarious," he muttered, tossing the note back at her.

"Alright, that's enough!" Sybbie's voice thundered from the top of the stairs. She reminded her younger siblings of their mother, both in her stern look and rigid stature with her hands on her hips. "You heard what Mam's letter said—homework, now!"

Colleen and Patricia groaned but didn't dare argue with their sister. Grabbing their schoolbags they hefted their way up stairs to their shared bedroom. Sybbie turned and lifted an eyebrow at her brother. "You too, Peter—homework."

"I heard you the first time," Peter muttered, trudging up the stairs.

Patricia poked her head out of her room then. "I'm hungry," she announced.

Colleen quickly added, "me too!"

Sybbie rolled her eyes, but being a Branson, understood the art of negotiation and compromise, and held up a finger to her sisters. "One biscuit, but that's it."

"No, I mean, I'm hungry for supper," Patricia explained, though Colleen was already moving back down the stairs to get the allowed biscuits.

"Well even if Mam were here, you wouldn't be getting supper at nearly four in the afternoon anyway," Sybbie groaned.

"I know that," Patricia huffed. "But _when_ will she be back?"

"I don't know," Sybbie sighed. "But don't worry about that now—homework, off with you!"

Patricia made a face, and Peter couldn't help but smirk, however he quickly wiped that smirk from his face when Sybbie turned her steel gaze to him. Colleen rushed back up the stairs then, carrying what suspiciously looked like more than two biscuits in her hands. Before she could be called into question, the door to the twins' room slammed shut, and giggles could be heard on the other side. Not for the first time did Peter wish his brother were older. He hated being the only boy, outranked by sisters on both sides.

Just then there was a knock at the door. Before Sybbie could say anything, Peter was halfway downstairs, racing to open it. "Billy!" he greeted with a grin at the sight of his friend. His smile only grew wider as he noticed Billy was holding a hockey stick.

"Hey! I just saw Jim O'Connell; he said there's a thick sheet of ice on the pond! A whole bunch of us are going—come on, Branson!"

Peter's smile broadened and he opened his mouth to eagerly reply, but was stopped short by his sister's thunderous warning. "Peter Liam Branson, don't you dare!"

Peter groaned. "Sybbie…"

"No, Peter!" Sybbie dug her feet in. "Mam said to stay here and do homework!"

"I'll do it when I get back, I promise!"

"We won't be too long," Billy offered in an attempt to back up his friend. "Just until the sun goes down."

"The sun will be down in less than an hour!" Sybbie observed.

"Exactly!" Peter grinned. "So I won't be gone long! And I'll be back before Mam or Da—"

"You don't know when she'll be back, she could be coming home as we speak, and…"

Sybbie's words died in her throat and Peter noticed that she wasn't looking at him any longer but at something over his shoulder. Frowning, Peter turned and then let out a groan as he saw the source of his sister's sudden silence.

"Hey, Sybbie…" a tall, handsome blond-haired boy greeted.

Sybbie's cheeks were a bright shade of pink. "Lars…" she bashfully murmured in reply.

Lars Magnusson lived next door. He was one year older than Sybbie, but unlike the Branson children, didn't go to school any longer. He was apprenticing with his father now, who happened to be a baker. Quite often the Magnusson's would send Lars over with something from their shop, sometimes in thanks for something their parents had done, like their father fixing their car, or their mother patching up the younger Magnusson children when they got cuts or scrapes, or sometimes simply because they were friendly neighbors. The youngest Branson, Michael (who was eighteen months) usually stayed with the Magnusson's when Sybil had to step out on her midwife duties as she clearly had to do today. And speaking of Michael…the youngest Branson was right now wriggling in their neighbor's arms.

"Sorry to bother you," Lars apologized, looking a bit sheepish.

"Oh, you're not bothering me!" Sybbie assured him, and Peter had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Billy was doing the same thing.

Lars smiled and Peter wondered if his sister was going to melt into a puddle. "I know Mother said she would look after Michael until Mrs. Branson got back, but…" he glanced over his shoulder at the Magnusson's bungalow, and then back at Sybbie, his expression seeming to grow more and more sheepish. "Mother thinks she's coming down with something and didn't want Michael to catch it."

"Oh!" Sybbie looked concerned. "Oh, I hope it's nothing serious? I'm sure Mam wouldn't mind seeing her, when she gets back—"

"Oh, that's alright," Lars assured, smiling warmly again. "Mother knew you would say that, but it's nothing serious—just a bit of a cold, she thinks; probably got it from my sister; she was sneezing and coughing over the weekend, but seems to be fine now."

Sybbie gave Lars a look of understanding. "Well, that is just the sort of thing a younger sibling would do."

Peter frowned at this and gave his sister a reproachful look. She didn't pay him any heed.

Billy saw this as a good sign, however, and gave a little tug on Peter's sleeve, hinting that he should slip away now, while his sister stood enamored with the boy next door. Sadly, he wasn't so lucky.

"Oh no you don't," Sybbie stopped him, her hand coming firmly down on his shoulder. "Homework—go!"

"But—"

"GO!" Sybbie hissed, and then turned her eyes to Billy, who was already moving quickly away.

Peter rolled his eyes and muttered various things to himself as he trudged back up the stairs, looking over his shoulder and glaring at his sister's back while she took Michael from Lars' arms and offered him a cup of tea, to which he politely declined, but thanked her…and then in a somewhat awkward manner, shuffled from one foot to the other, before mumbling something about several friends going to the cinema on Friday and wondering if she would like to join them? Like any good younger brother, Peter stored the moment away for when he could use it in front of their parents to embarrass his sister.

In the meantime, "Hey!" he called out to Sybbie. "Don't _you_ have homework you should be working on?"

Sybbie whipped her head around and glared at her brother, before putting on a pleasant smile and once again returning her attention to Lars and murmuring, "I'd like that…I'll talk with my parents this evening when they get home," she murmured, to which Lars smiled broadly, before nodding his head and backing somewhat awkwardly away from the house. Peter made a face at the whole scene, before silently vowing _, I am NEVER going to be like THAT!_ However, he didn't linger on the thought, as Sybbie shut the door, and then turned and gave him such a look, he wouldn't be surprised to see fire come shooting out of her mouth when she next opened it. He raced the rest of the way up the stairs, shut his door, and didn't come back out until he heard his father enter the house, a few hours later.

* * *

Their mother didn't come home in time for supper. Nor was she home by the time the younger Branson children had to start getting ready for bed. "I'm sure she'll be here soon," Tom tried to reassure his children, who were starting to look a little worried. "Your mother has assisted with long births before, and Mrs. Donnelly and her baby are in excellent hands."

That did bring a smile to the Branson children faces, and Sybbie did what she could to help the younger ones finish getting ready for bed, while Tom took care of little Michael. "Help your sister with the dishes," he told Peter, before leaving to change Michael's nappy.

Of all the chores he had to do, the washing up was one Peter loathed the most. And since Sybbie had gone to help his younger sisters get ready for bed, he knew he would have to start without her. Why did she have to help Colleen and Patricia anyway? They were both nine-years-old! What help did they need to get ready for bed—

The front door opened then and Peter quickly shut off the faucet and hurried from the kitchen to the main corridor to see—"MAM!"

Sybil Branson looked up from the rug where she was wiping her shoes and offered a tired, but loving smile at the sight of her son. "Hello, darling," she greeted, moving to him and bending her head to brush her lips against his cheek. "Oh your cheeks are so warm," she sighed with relief.

Peter grinned, then not waiting to be asked, quickly moved around his mother to help her with her coat. Sybil smiled and thanked him as she shrugged the coat off her shoulders and handed Peter her scarf. "Thank you, darling," she murmured. "Have the others gone to bed—?"

"MAM!"

The twins squealed at the same time, and ran down the steps at top speed, Sybbie following close behind.

"We missed you!" Colleen greeted, throwing her little arms around her mother's shoulders and leaning up on her tip toes to kiss her cheek.

"Da and Sybbie made stew but it wasn't as good as yours," Patricia followed, kissing her mother's other cheek.

"Oh it wasn't that bad!" Sybbie muttered, before turning and smiling at her mother and offering her own kiss. "We saved some for you—"

"Mam, Mrs. Gubbins says I qualified for the spelling bee!" Colleen interrupted.

"I got top marks on my math test!" Patricia added, not to be outdone by her twin. "Wanna see? I brought it home—"

"Let Mam be!" Peter interrupted, glaring at his sisters. "Can't you see she's tired?"

"I'm alright, but thank you, Peter," Sybil stroked her son's cheek before turning back to her daughters. "I'm very happy to hear about your accomplishments, girls, very happy and very proud. But it is bedtime, so we'll talk more about it tomorrow at breakfast, alright?"

The twins gave a somewhat over-dramatic sigh, but agreed to their mother's suggestion.

"I'll be up in a moment—go finish getting ready," she urged them, kissing the tops of their heads before they turned and hurried back up the stairs once again. She turned to her older children and asked, "Where's your father?"

"Changing Michael's nappy," Peter informed her.

"Ah, well far be it from me to interrupt him," she said with a teasing wink, earning a giggle from Sybbie and Peter. Noise could be overheard coming from the upstairs bathroom, and Sybbie groaned, before reassuring her mother that she would take care of things with the twins, and then swiftly ran upstairs to stop the girls from overflowing the sink or worse, clogging up the toilet.

"Sybil?"

Both Peter and his mother turned at the sound of Tom's voice, and Peter noticed the instant change on his father's face, how it seemed to light up upon seeing his wife.

"Oh thank God," Tom murmured. "It started snowing as I was coming home from work, but it really started to thicken over the last hour…"

"I know, it did make it a bit difficult with the street car," Sybil sighed, but smiled as she moved towards her husband, whose free arm (the one that wasn't holding Michael) wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer to his broad chest. Peter stood off to the side, looking back and forth between his parents. It was as if they hadn't noticed that he was still there. Instinct had him wincing when they first began to kiss, but instead of looking away as he usually did, he recalled the conversation between himself and his sister on their walk home from school.

"… _Da loves Mam and she loves him and that's why they hug and kiss so much."_

As much as he hated to admit to himself, maybe his sister was right? Maybe it…wasn't…"unnatural" or "weird" as Billy or Billy's father had put it. And if truth be told…he hadn't really been questioning his parents' actions until his friends started to tease him about it.

"Ma, Ma, Ma," Michael demanded his presence be acknowledged, and Sybil laughed as she turned her head to kiss her youngest, before taking him from Tom's arms to cuddle in her own.

Tom smiled at the sight of his wife and youngest son, before turning his head and seeming then to notice Peter was still there. "Have you finished the dishes like I asked?" His voice was stern, but not unpleasant. Peter turned a bright shade of red, and then hurried back into the kitchen to continue with the washing up.

While he was there, he listened as his parents continued speaking to one another.

"How is Mrs. Donnelly?" Tom asked.

"Well, I'm pleased to say," Sybil sighed, rather wearily. "She delivered a healthy set of twins—remind you of anyone?"

Tom chuckled. "Lord help her," he sighed.

"Yes, well, unlike our girls, these two are boys, and might be identical, though it's hard to know for certain at this point." Another weary sigh escaped her mouth, followed by a sound that resembled a groan.

"Are you alright, love?" Tom asked with concern. "Here, let me take Michael—have you eaten anything? We set some stew aside—"

"I know, Sybbie told me," Sybil answered. "And I'll be alright—just stiff. It was a long birth, and one that wasn't without some complications, though thankfully everything was fine afterwards, and mother and babies were doing very well when I left."

"Mrs. Donnelly was very fortunate to have such a skilled midwife looking after her."

"Thank you, darling, but my skills can only do so much. I can't perform a surgery, even if I knew how, not in someone's home. A birth, or rather, _births_ , like hers should have been at the hospital. One of the boys had gotten the cord stuck around his neck—I was afraid he was going to choke! Thankfully, with a pair of forceps, I managed—"

"I get the idea," Tom interrupted. Peter couldn't deny he was glad for the interruption. Probably more than any other boy in his grade, Peter Branson knew all about human anatomy, both male and female; his mother wasn't shy in teaching her children such things, and even before he could formulate the question _"where do babies come from?"_ Sybil Branson was already prepared, complete with pictures from a medical textbook.

"Well…as lovely as a piping hot bowl of stew sounds, I'm not sure I can stomach much more than tea and toast."

"Can't imagine why…" Tom chuckled. "I'll set the kettle on for you."

Peter turned his attention back to the sink as his parents entered the kitchen, his mother sinking down into a nearby chair, taking Michael once again, while his father went to fill the tea kettle. Sybil turned her attentions back to her older son and asked, "how was school today?"

"Fine," Peter answered, the typical answer children often gave their parents when asked that basic question. And because the subject of school was never one that he wanted to focus on more than was necessary, he changed the subject and said, "Mr. Murphy at school said he wants to assemble a hockey team! Tryouts are going to be on Monday of next week!"

Sybil groaned at the mention of the sport. "Honestly, I don't understand where this fascination with hockey comes from."

"All the boys play it here!" Peter defended. "And I don't care what George says," referring to his cousin. "It's ten times better than cricket."

"Amen to that," Tom muttered under his breath.

Sybil shot her husband a look, before turning her attentions back to her son. "I'm not so sure it's a good idea," she sighed. "Your marks at school this past quarter have slipped considerably, and I think hockey is distracting you."

"What!? No it's not—"

"Oi," Tom warned, giving Peter a look that told him to watch his tone.

"Darling, I know you love to play hockey, but it's not worth risking your grades—"

"But I'm not!" he protested, and then winced at the harsh way his father spoke his name.

He wanted to say more, he wanted to make his mother believe he could get his grades back up _and_ play hockey for the school, but it was at that moment that Sybbie came back into the kitchen, completely oblivious to the conversation that had transpired between himself and his parents.

"Mam, I wanted to wait to ask until you got home," she announced, looking at both her parents. "Can I go to the cinema on Friday? A bunch of us from school are going—I'd need some money, but just a little!"

Why Peter thought his parents would put their foot down and tell his sister she couldn't go, he didn't know. Instead, his parents exchanged a glance, before Sybil said, "well, I don't see why not—what time is the picture? And what are you seeing, exactly?"

Peter's eyes went wide with horror, and because he was feeling rather sorry for himself, muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, "you should ask her _WHO_ she's going with." A satisfied smirk spread across his face at the way his sister's eyes widened at his words.

Sybil and Tom both arched their eyebrows and turned to their oldest. Peter continued to smirk, ready for his parents to explode before forbidding Sybbie from even setting foot outside of the house. But it was surprise, not delight that greeted Peter, when Tom exchanged a look with his wife, before trying his hardest to ask with a semi-straight face, "Young Mr. Magnusson wouldn't happen to be among this 'group' attending the cinema on Friday, would he?"

Sybil swatted her husband's arm, but Tom only chuckled. Sybbie continued to glow beet red, however she didn't crumble with embarrassment; she lifted her chin and answered, "Lars was the one who mentioned it, yes, BUT THERE REALLY WILL BE A GROUP GOING—"

"Alright, alright, I believe you," Tom chuckled, before leaning forward and pressing his lips to his daughter's brow. "Remind me again on Thursday and I'll make sure some money is set aside."

Sybbie still blushed, but also beamed at this. As for Peter, his jaw had become unhinged as he stared in dismay. "That's not fair!" he all but shouted. Sybil and Tom turned and stared at their son in alarm. "Why is she being allowed to go the cinema with a boy—"

"A _group!"_ Sybbie hissed.

"—And I'm not allowed to try out for hockey!"

Michael started to wail at that moment. Peter immediately felt himself shrinking back at the dark look his father was giving him. Sybil also didn't look to be very pleased, and she murmured that she was going to try and put Michael to bed, before rising and leaving the kitchen.

"Oh Mam, Lars said that Mrs. Magnusson thinks she's coming down with a cold; she had Lars bring Michael back early, not wanting him to get sick," Sybbie told her mother in passing.

"Thank you, darling, I'll be watchful for any signs," Sybil murmured, kissing her son and trying to calm him from his sudden outburst of tears. Sybbie glanced at her father and then back at her brother, then decided to follow her mother out of the kitchen, leaving father and son behind. Despite his earlier hopes of humiliating his sister, Peter now wished more than ever that she wouldn't leave him.

As soon as they were alone, Tom folded his arms across his chest and lowered his voice to a quiet but firm tone, one that didn't allow argument.

"Your mother gave you the reasons to why she doesn't think it's a good idea for you to try out. They're valid reasons and I agree with them. As for your sister, her request to go to the pictures on Friday is not related at all to our decision in regards to you. She's asking for to out for a few hours on one day, which isn't even a school night. What you're asking is a commitment to something that will last for several weeks, and your school work might suffer greatly from it…" Tom knelt down then until he was at eyelevel with his son. His tone had lightened somewhat and Peter could see the concern in his father's eyes, genuine care and concern, as well as a little sympathy and understanding to why Peter was upset. "I know it doesn't help with the situation for right now…but if you work hard, get your grades back up and keep them back up…and then prove to your Mam and me that you can maintain that in addition to 'practicing' with your friends on days when you get all your homework done, of course…then next year, we very well might have a change of heart."

It was an entire year away, but it was the closest thing to a compromise that could be made, and Peter knew he wouldn't find a better or fairer offer. "Alright…" he sighed, still feeling disappointed, but he forced a smile and nodded his head, then returned the offered hug his father gave him.

He finished the washing up, and Tom told him to go and get ready for bed, that he would dry the dishes. Peter didn't need to be told twice, glad to be finished with the loathsome chore, and hurried up the stairs to his room. His mother was in with the twins, rocking Michael in her arms and listening to the girls prattle while preparing for bed.

"…Mam, we have to make valentines for school—can we use the kitchen table tomorrow to work on them?" Colleen asked.

"That's fine, dear," Sybil assured. "But just be sure to have everything cleared away when it's time for supper."

"Will you help us?" Patricia asked rather eagerly. "Please? Can you show us how to cut hearts from lace and make paper heart chains?"

"We'll see," Sybil sighed, sounding a bit unsure. "I have several patients I need to visit tomorrow…and I'm not sure what I'm going to do about Michael if Mrs. Magnusson is ill. But if I'm able, I will," she promised.

"What are you and Da going to do on Valentine's Day?" Colleen then asked, sounding quite mischievous with her question.

"I know the answer to that!" Patricia giggled, before making rather obnoxious kissing sounds with her lips.

"Alright, that's enough," Sybil warned, though Peter could tell she was trying to keep herself from giggling. He had forgotten all about Valentine's Day. His teacher hadn't said anything in class, but that didn't bother him, in fact, he rather hoped nothing would be said because unlike his sisters, the thought of having to make valentines for his fellow classmates was downright embarrassing.

"I doubt your father and I will be doing anything," Sybil sighed. "He's been very busy at _The Globe_ , and my appointment book is quite full this week…" she paused to yawn and Peter suddenly felt concern at hearing the weariness in his mother's voice. He remembered how when had she entered the house, before he rushed to greet her, he had seen dark circles under her eyes. She had been working a great deal, both in terms of seeing patients, but also in terms of reading books and studying. Why was she studying? For what purpose? He knew his parents enjoyed learning (for some strange reason) but…she wasn't attending school, so who and what was she studying for?

Michael started wailing then. Sybil sighed once more and bid her younger daughters goodnight before rising and leaving the room. She was surprised to find Peter standing just outside. "He's doing that a lot, it seems…" he found himself mumbling, recalling how Michael had been crying a great deal the previous night…and the night before that.

"Yes, it seems he's reaching his 'terrible two's' well before he's two," Sybil groaned, but forced a smile and caressed Peter's cheek before turning in the direction of her and Tom's bedroom, which Michael shared at the moment.

"Mam!" Peter called out to her as she passed. Sybil paused and looked back at him. "I…I'm sorry about earlier…just now, downstairs."

His mother's smile was one of gentle understanding. "I know, darling. And I do understand why you're upset."

Peter felt rather ashamed of his near temper tantrum. He may not be the oldest child, but he was the oldest boy, and he knew his parents depended on him just as much as they depended on Sybbie to help mind the younger ones. "Da said that if I can get my grades back up and keep them up and prove that I can handle that, then maybe next year I can try out."

Sybil smiled and nodded her head in agreement. "I think that's a fine idea," she murmured, before wincing at the rather loud shriek Michael gave. "Excuse me, Peter, but if I don't see to your brother, none of us are going to get a good night's sleep."

Peter nodded his head before turning and dragging his feet down the hallway to his own room, which he would someday share with his younger brother. Hopefully by then, whatever caused Michael to cry like that would be out of his system.

"Oi!"

Peter froze and looked up at the sight of his older sister, standing and blocking his way into his room. Like their father, Sybbie adopted the same stance with her arms folded across her chest, but unlike their father, there were no signs of understanding or sympathy in her eyes.

"That was a dirty trick you pulled," she all but snarled at him.

Peter was willing to ask for forgiveness from his parents, but not necessarily from his older sister. "Were you going to tell them about Lars if I hadn't said anything?"

Sybbie rolled her eyes. "It's not like that! It's a _group!"_

"So he says," Peter muttered.

Sybbie's eyes narrowed. "Are you insinuating something?" Before he could reply (and remember what "insinuating" meant) his sister jabbed him with a finger in the chest. "Lars is a gentleman, he wouldn't lie, and both Mam and Da like him. So yes, for your information, I _would_ have said something to Mam and Da if they asked who was in the group, but seeing how it is a GROUP of us going, it wasn't necessary to tell them at that exact moment—"

"Alright, alright," Peter muttered, rubbing the spot where his sister had kept jabbing him. "At least you'll be out having fun with Lars—I mean, A GROUP, that just so happens to include Lars—" she had jabbed him again, but it was worth it. "—while Mam and Da spend Valentine's Day doing nothing."

Sybbie's frown changed then. Apparently she too seemed to realize that Friday was Valentine's Day. But instead of getting all "gooey" over the realization that Lars had asked her to join him (with a group) to the pictures on Valentine's Day, she seemed to focus on the latter part of what he had told her.

"Mam and Da don't have plans?"

"How could they?" he mumbled, still rubbing where she had poked him. "If you're out on a date—"

"It's NOT a date!"

"If you're not here to look after the younger ones, then how could they go out and do something themselves?"

Sybbie suddenly looked guilty then, and Peter suddenly felt rather guilty for making her feel guilty (much to his annoyance). "Mam also said they're both too busy," he added, in an effort to assuage their guilty feelings.

Sybbie didn't say anything, she just pressed her lips together as she often did when she was contemplating something. She then mumbled a "goodnight" to Peter, before turning into her own room and shutting the door. Peter wasn't sure what to make of that, but decided not to question it further.

* * *

Sleep did eventually come to the Branson house, but not without some difficulty. Michael awoke several more times in the middle of the night, and then just before daybreak, an urgent knock was heard downstairs. Tom threw on his robe and Sybil followed close behind, both of them looking sleep deprived when they reached the door. Another one of Sybil's patients had gone into labor, and the woman was terrified as this was her first child and she couldn't get hold of her own mother, and her husband didn't know what to do, other than run to the Bransons house and hope and pray Mrs. Branson could come and ease them all…so without breakfast, or seeing her children off, Sybil dressed and left with Mr. Rohan, leaving Tom to make sure the children had everything they needed before heading off to school.

"Da, what about Michael?" Patricia asked.

"Yeah, if Mrs. Magnusson is ill, who's going to look after him?" Colleen asked.

"I'll see if Mrs. Quinn from across the street can look after him. She's always cooing over Michael at church," Tom muttered as he tried to finish making the children's lunches for school. He glanced at the stove and groaned at the sight of the dirty dishes that needed to be taken care of before he left for work.

Sybbie followed his eyes. "I can do that Da—"

"No, you need to finish getting ready for school—Colleen, finish your breakfast," Tom instructed, trying to keep his temper even though it was obvious to the other children that he was on edge. Peter noticed much like his mother had looked yesterday, that his father had dark circles under his eyes as well.

"Da, do you want me to go over and ask Mrs. Quinn for you?" he asked, wanting to be helpful. "I'm finished with my breakfast," he added.

Tom glanced and then gave a nod of his head. "Thank you, Peter," he called out, while Sybbie urged the younger girls to finish getting ready.

Ten minutes later, Tom was dropping Michael off with Mrs. Quinn, while the rest of the Branson children were heading down the road to school. As soon as they rounded the corner, Sybbie turned to face her younger siblings and once again adopted that stern stance that reminded them all of both of their parents.

"We need to do everything we can to be helpful to Mam and Da—not get in their way, not bother them with questions—"

"But Mam is supposed to help us make valentines for school!" Patricia practically whined.

"You can do that yourself!" Peter snapped, matching his sister's harsh look with one of his own.

"I know Mam said she would help if she were able, but Mam also said that her schedule is very busy this week," Sybbie reminded the twins. "And even if she doesn't have a patient to see this afternoon when we get home, she didn't get a great deal of sleep last night—"

"None of us did," Colleen groaned.

"THE POINT is," Sybbie gave her younger sisters a look that dared them to interrupt her again. "Let's not bother her if we can help it…alright?"

"And Da too!" Peter added.

Sybbie nodded her head in agreement. "And Da too."

"Will you help us with our valentines then?" Patricia asked Sybbie.

"That is if you're not too busy staring out the window and hoping Lars Magnusson passes by," Colleen added, earning a giggle from her twin and a horrified gasp from her older sister.

"Away with you both!" Sybbie growled, pointing in the direction of the twins' school. Peter had to bite the inside of his cheek to suppress his own laughter, but Sybbie wasn't fooled. "One word out of you, and I'll make sure YOU'RE the one helping the twins make valentines!" she threatened. That shut him up for the rest of the journey.

Unfortunately, the stresses their parents were enduring didn't lessen as the week progressed. Tom's editor at _The Globe_ wanted him to cover a special assignment at City Hall, which meant he would keeping late hours at the office, while Sybil was left to not only do what she could for the children, but also look after Michael who didn't come down with a cold, but rather, an ear infection that had him screaming practically every hour. Thankfully she didn't have any births to oversee after the early-morning emergency to the Rohan's, but all of her usual appointments were pushed back to the end of the week, which meant that Valentine's Day would most definitely be a day where neither Branson parent did anything together.

Sybbie and Peter did what they could to help around the house, taking on chores without even being asked. Even the twins stepped up to do their part, and much to Peter's surprise, avoided bothering their mother with their idle chatter. But even with all this, it wasn't missed by Peter Branson that things weren't…well.

Sybil was exhausted, trying to comfort her youngest while also trying to be a good mother to her other children, inquiring after their homework, asking them about friends and school, all the while looking as if she might collapse any second. And yet despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but be a little short-tempered.

 _"Girls, I asked you to please clear away the table, I'm trying to make supper!"_ she groaned one afternoon, finding remains of the twins' valentine creations.

 _"Peter, I nearly broke my neck, tripping over your hockey stick! What is it doing in the house, anyway? Keep it outside!"_

Even Sybbie, their parents "perfect angel" wasn't immune to their mother's short temper. _"Darling, please, you'll see Lars and your friends soon enough on Friday; come away from the window and help me with cutting up these potatoes!"_

But that was nothing compared to the clipped words the Branson children overheard exchanged between their parents at one point that week.

 _"What do you want me to do, Sybil? You know my editor is breathing down my neck about this story!"_

 _"Oh yes, and heaven forbid you turn down a story!"_

 _"It's my_ job, _love; I'm head of the political—"_

 _"Being a parent is your job as well!"_

 _"I know that! You don't think I know that!?"_

 _"You leave before anybody else in the morning and you don't get home until the children are nearly asleep!"_

 _"Need I remind you that there are many days, such as this past Tuesday, when you leave before the children have had their breakfast, and don't get home until—"_

 _"Well, to quote you,_ 'it's my job, love'."

 _"EXACTLY! And yet I don't try to purposefully guilt you—"_

 _"I am NOT trying to 'purposefully guilt'—"_

 _"Oh no? Then what ARE you doing?"_

 _"I can't do this by myself, Tom! Sybbie and Peter and even the twins do what they can to help around the house, but it isn't fair to ask them to take on so much, in addition to everything they have to do for school—"_

Their parents had rowed before, but this was unlike anything they had heard before. They were all gathered in the twins' bedroom. Colleen and Patricia started to cry and huddled close to Sybbie who tried to offer what comfort she could. Peter stood near the door, and even though it was closed, they could still hear everything. Just then Michael started to scream, and Sybil shouted at her husband, saying that he had woken the baby when she had finally managed to get him to fall asleep, while Tom muttered that he wasn't the one who had been shouting, then added, _"no, I'll see to him,_ milady _—far be it from me to allow poor_ Lady Sybil _to have to lift another finger!"_

This earned a gasp from the children, who knew that their mother wasn't fond of being reminded about her old life as an English aristocrat, especially in the way which their father had muttered.

The next day, Tom was there to share breakfast with the family, but it wasn't missed by Peter that while his parents seemed a great deal calmer and spoke in softer, more even tones, they didn't exchange any of their usual touches or kisses. What was so second-nature to the Branson parents was now completely foreign. And despite what Peter had said to his sister earlier that week, he now missed seeing his parents embrace.

"Are Mam and Da going to get a divorce?" Patricia whimpered after they left the house for school.

Sybbie's head spun so quickly at her sister's words, Peter thought for sure she had given herself whiplash.

"No! No, of course not!" she firmly stated. "All couples argue; Auntie Mary and Uncle Matthew argue, Gran and Donk argue, but they didn't divorce—and Mam and Da would never do that!"

"Because we're Catholic?" Colleen mumbled.

"Because they LOVE each other!" Sybbie growled.

"But they didn't kiss…"

All three of his sisters turned to look at Peter then.

He shrugged his shoulders and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "They didn't kiss," he repeated again. "Mam and Da always kiss…and touch one another, whether it's their hands, or shoulders, or…" he sniffled and kicked a stone on the ground.

Sybbie sighed and shook her head once again. "They're just tired; it's been a very busy week for them, and Michael getting sick hasn't helped. They're under a lot of stress, but soon everything WILL be better," she insisted. "It will; Michael was already much improved this morning, and Da will be finished with his article by the weekend."

"But Mam has all those appointments to work on tomorrow," Colleen murmured.

"And tomorrow is Valentine's Day," Patricia added.

And that was when the idea struck Peter.

"We'll make them dinner."

Again, his sisters all stared at him. "What?" they said in unison.

"We'll make them dinner! We'll give them the nice, fancy, Valentine's Day celebration they should be having!"

Sybbie folded her arms across her chest. "You don't know the first thing about cooking," she pointed out.

"But you do," he said rather pointedly, shooting a glare at the twins who then began to snort and giggle.

"Oh, so you're suggesting _I_ cook Mam and Da some kind of elaborate Valentine's Day feast?"

"We'll help!" Peter encouraged, now looking at the twins with an expectant look. "Right?"

Colleen and Patricia exchanged an uncertain look. "But…what about Sybbie?" Colleen looked at her older sister. "She's going to the pictures tomorrow—"

"No…" Now the three younger Bransons looked at their sister with surprise. Sybbie sighed and shrugged her shoulders, before forcing a smile. "They'll be other times…and…and I think Peter is right; both Mam and Da have been working really hard, and it just isn't right that they not have any kind of 'special' celebration for Valentine's Day, so…" she looked determined now. "I say we do it."

Peter grinned broadly and the twins even started to cheer.

"BUT!" Sybbie pointed a stern finger at her younger siblings _. "ALL_ of you are helping me with this—I am not making this meal all by myself, understand?"

"Of course!" Peter answered for them. "We'll be the 'Daisys' to your 'Mrs. Patmore'," he chuckled, recalling the now retired cook and former kitchen maid from Downton Abbey.

"Alright…" Sybbie sighed resolutely. "Then after school today, we'll meet in my room and make our plans…we won't have time to go out and buy anything fancy, so we'll have to use what we have at the house."

"Colleen and I can make decorations!" Patricia insisted. "We still have plenty of supplies left over from our valentines!"

"Good, we'll talk about it in more detail later after school." The twins nodded their heads at their sister's words, then hurried down the street to their school, while Peter and Sybbie continued up the road to their own.

"It's a good idea, yeah?" he asked, looking at his sister and hoping she would agree with him.

Sybbie smiled and nodded her head. "It's a good idea, Peter; you do have them on occasion."

He rolled his eyes but laughed and raced along beside her the rest of the way to their school. He did what he could to concentrate on the lessons his teacher was giving the class as the day went on, but all he could think about were the surprised faces of his parents when they entered the house tomorrow evening after their equally long days of work, seeing the place all decorated, and the nice meal prepared. They would gasp, hug each of them, thank them, before finally turning to one another, and embracing, while murmuring "happy Valentine's Day" to one another before they kissed.

It was going to be perfect!

…Or so he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

_SO FINALLY, here is the conclusion to this much, much belated Valentine for magfreak. I apologize for the delay, as well as for the overall lack of updates with all my stuff. I'm hoping the world around me will calm down, and the muse will behave itself and things can pick up. But thank you for your patience, and I do hope you enjoy this. It was a lot of fun, imagining this future version of the Bransons, and writing about Tom and Sybil's children. Thanks again for reading!_

* * *

 **PART TWO**

The Branson siblings were good on their word. As soon as each of them got home from school, they announced to their mother that they were heading straight upstairs to do homework, when in reality they met in Sybbie's tiny room to go over their plan to give their parents the grandest Valentine's Day celebration that a group of working class children could give…with only twenty-four hours to plan. It was not going to be easy, to say the least. But they were determined! And excitement was fueling their minds, giving them the confidence they needed to pull this whole idea off.

Sybbie scouted ahead of her siblings, checking the icebox and cupboards under the guise of helping her mother make supper, and later relating back what her discoveries were. By the end of Thursday night, the plan had all but been finalized; the children knew their mother was behind on her appointments because of Michael's ear infection, but insisted that they would look after him so she could get out of the house on Friday and see to her patients. She wouldn't be back until night fall, same as their father. They would use that time to get straight to work, cooking and baking and decorating the house, trying to make it as festive and romantic as possible. As for the menu, Sybbie felt confident enough in her abilities to try her hand at their Irish grandmother's recipe for boiled bacon, something she thought their parents would appreciate as in a few short weeks Lent would start and it would be nothing but fish for every Friday until Easter.

"I've helped Nan plenty of times," Sybbie assured her siblings when she told them what she would make.

Peter frowned at this. Their Irish grandmother had been to Boston only twice, and the last time they had visited Dublin had been back when the twins were still in diapers. Still, he chose not to argue the subject, and instead forced a smile and decided to share in his sister's confidence.

"What else will we make?" Colleen asked.

"Can I bake a cake!?" Patricia all but begged.

"There are plenty of potatoes, carrots, and turnips in the pantry—" the twins made a face at the mention of turnips (not one a favorite) "—I'll need help roasting and stewing those…"

"I can do that," Peter offered. While he hadn't done as much cooking as his older sister, Peter certainly had been taught to help in the kitchen, and was often given the job of washing and cutting the vegetables for his parents. Roasting and stewing them shouldn't be too hard.

"And cake?" Patricia brought up again. "What about a cake?"

Sybbie rolled her eyes. "Yes, we'll make a cake for dessert," she assured.

"CHOCOLATE!" both of the twins practically shouted.

"Sshh!" Sybbie hushed, a deep frown darkening her face. However, it wasn't because of the twins' volume, but because she couldn't remember if she had seen any cocoa powder in the cupboard. "I don't know if we can make a chocolate cake…"

The twins' faces fell. "But…but it _has_ to be chocolate!" Patricia's lip actually wobbled when she spoke.

Peter was growing annoyed. _"Why_ does it have to be chocolate?"

His younger sisters exchanged a look. "Because it's _Valentine's Day_ , of course!" Colleen explained in a rather condescending tone.

"You _always_ have chocolate on Valentine's Day," Patricia added, her tone reminding Peter of their Auntie Mary.

"Since when?" he challenged.

"Enough," Sybbie stepped in, stopping the argument from kindling. "As nice as a chocolate cake might be, if we don't have the cocoa powder to make it, it's out of the question—and no, we don't have the time to go and buy some!" she said with a wagging finger, stopping the twins from protesting further. "Mam and Da will be equally as happy with a plain cake as they would be with a chocolate one; trust me."

Colleen and Patricia exchanged another look, before folding their arms in defeated resolution and muttering "fine" under their breath.

With the menu and decorations settled, the only issue that remained was what to do with little Michael. Mrs. Magnusson was still getting over her cold, and while Mrs. Quinn had helped with looking after Michael earlier in the week, the Branson children weren't so sure that the woman could be relied upon when it came to keeping a secret. Mrs. Quinn was a very nice person, but she was a bit of a gossip.

"We'll just have to keep an eye on him ourselves," Sybbie said with some resolution. "Hopefully we can lull him to sleep—perhaps play some music on the wireless? Soft music, of course—no jazz or swing."

"Patricia and I can take turns watching over him while we work on decorations," Colleen volunteered, earning a smile from Sybbie, as well as one (surprisingly) from Peter.

So Friday morning dawned, and the Branson children awoke and behaved so good naturedly at breakfast, that their parents might have suspected something if they both weren't so focused on their own stressful schedules for the day ahead.

"I'll be home no later than seven," Tom promised, just before leaving Sybil and the children for work. The children turned their heads to their mother, curious to see her reaction to their father's announcement (they were still being unusually "cool" towards one another), and Sybil gave a gentle nod, before softly murmuring, "I have a great many appointments to make up today, but…I think I'll be home by then as well."

"Good…" Tom murmured, the children now turning their heads back to him, much like an crowd watching a tennis match. "Good…" he repeated, more to himself this time. It wasn't missed by the children how…rigid, their father seemed; uncomfortably so. Peter noticed that the muscles on one of Tom's arms seemed rather tense, as if longing to possibly stretch out (or wrap around his wife), but much to Peter's disappointment, neither of his parents made any move towards the other. Tom forced a smile at his brood, wished them a good day at school, then turned and left the house. The porridge in their bowls suddenly felt like cement.

"We really need to make sure this meal is spectacular," Peter muttered to his sisters as they made their way towards school. "Mam and Da's marriage depends upon it!"

Sybbie rolled her eyes, finding her brother's words a bit too dramatic, however she couldn't deny that she too was bothered by the lack of affection she was seeing between their parents. As for the twins, both Colleen and Patricia had gone pale at their brother's warning.

"Straight to the house after school is over," Sybbie reminded them before they parted ways. "We have a great deal to do and only so many hours to do it."

"We'll run the whole way home!" Colleen promised.

As for Patricia, she looked a little guilty. "I'm sorry you're missing your date, Sybbie," she mumbled.

Sybbie's cheeks burned hotly. "Oh for heaven's sake, it WASN'T a date!" she groaned. "Now go!"

The twins didn't add further comment; they simply turned down their street hurried towards their school, leaving Sybbie and Peter to their journey. Peter glanced up at his sister and mumbled under his breath, "I'm sorry too; as much as I tease you about him, I do rather like Lars."

"Peter…" Sybbie growled her brother's name, though her face did soften slightly at his words. "Thank you," she grumbled, before adding, "Not that I need your approval."

Peter did smile at that, and even laughed. She sounded just like their mother.

* * *

It wasn't uncommon for Peter Branson to take off like a bolt of lightning the second the school bell rung, announcing the end of another day, but it was surprising to Billy and his other friends, to see him take off with a strange eagerness just to go home. Billy had asked Peter if he wanted to come by the frozen pond after school was done, and had it been any other Friday, Peter would have leapt at the chance! But much to Peter's own surprise, he was honestly more excited to be getting home and getting started on his parent's Valentine surprise than to go and play a game of hockey with his friends.

Not that they needed to know that detail, of course. Instead, he made up some excuse, informing Billy that he had to hurry home to look after his little brother (which wasn't a complete lie). He had bolted so quickly out the school doors that he had realized he was ahead of his sister, until he heard Sybbie's voice calling out after him.

"Sorry," she mumbled when she caught up. "Caroline was asking me about this evening and I had to explain to her that I wasn't going."

Peter frowned, more so because of the strange "guilty" feeling he had, whenever he was reminded that his sister was giving up her "date" (or whatever she called it) to stay home and help the rest of them with Mam and Da's Valentine surprise. Which reminded him…

"Did you tell Lars already?" he found himself asking, trying to sound more casual than curious. He glanced at Sybbie out of the corner of his eye and noticed that her cheeks had darkened.

"I told him yesterday," she simply answered, her eyes remaining steady and focused on the road ahead, her voice doing the best it could to not reveal personal feelings of disappointment. And it wasn't missed by him that she didn't go into further detail. Instead, his sister urged him to hurry, and that was the end of that discussion.

Their school always finished a few minutes before the twins', so naturally, they were the first home. Their mother was already waiting, with her medical bag in hand, right when they walked in the door. "Oh good," Sybil said with a smile upon seeing them, before quickly coming forward and kissing their cheeks. "Thank you, darlings, for hurrying home as quickly as you did."

"Of course, Mam," Sybbie murmured, smiling and kissing her mother's cheek, before turning her attentions to little Michael, who was sitting up on the floor and playing with a few wooden blocks.

"I just changed his nappy, so he should be fine for a few hours," Sybil informed her daughter. "And I don't know if you heard me this morning, but I believe I will be home no later than seven—darling, I'm sorry, remind me again, what time is the picture?"

Both Sybbie and Peter exchanged a look, realizing that their parents still thought Sybbie was going to the cinema. At least that proved they were completely ignorant to the children's idea…

"Um…half-past five," Sybbie answered, her eyes looking anywhere but her mother's face.

Instead, Sybil simply nodded her head. She then turned to Peter and with a loving, but firm smile, murmured, "I know I can count on you to look after the younger ones while Sybbie steps out and before your father and I get home."

Peter swallowed and nodded his head. "Yes, Mam."

"SYBBIE! WE'RE HERE! WE—Oh! Mam?" Colleen's voice came to a halt just as she and Patricia barreled into the house.

Sybil grinned at her younger daughters and kissed them both, before telling them to mind their sister and brother and help with what was needed around the house, and then finally bidding them all a loving farewell, before leaving at last. "Wait…" Sybbie warned, watching from the window as their mother walked down the street and then turned a corner. "Alright, NOW!"

The room erupted with noise and activity.

Sybbie and Peter went directly into the kitchen, while Colleen and Patricia took little Michael with them into the parlor, to get to work on their decorations (as well as keeping their brother occupied). In the kitchen, Sybbie retrieved the bacon from the larder, while Peter got a cutting board and knife for the vegetables. Sybbie looked over at Peter and frowned as she noticed the massive butcher's knife he had retrieved.

"That's too big!" she scolded, nodding towards the knife he was holding.

Peter made a face. "No it's not."

"Yes it is!" Sybbie insisted. "You're far more likely to cut off your own finger than chop a carrot in half!" She pulled a smaller knife from the drawer and held it out (by the handle) to her brother. "This is far more suitable."

"I've chopped vegetables plenty of times with this knife!" Peter defended.

"Then it's a miracle you still have all your fingers," Sybbie muttered.

Peter scowled at his sister. "I'm not stupid, I know what I'm doing—and besides, Mam says it's fine!"

Sybbie didn't look convinced. "Mam said it was fine for you to use that big knife to cut carrots?"

Well not in those exact words, but his mother had never told him that he couldn't use the big knife...of course, his mother had never seen him use the big butcher's knife…

"I'm not going to cut myself," Peter grumbled. "Let me worry about the vegetables and you worry about the bacon!"

Sybbie's glare could freeze hell, but Peter held his head high and focused on his task at hand. Placing a carrot on the chopping board and preparing to cut it with the butcher's knife—

"Did you wash those?"

He paused and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snarling something nasty back at his sister. And even though he purposefully had his back to her while he gathered the vegetables to carry them over to the sink for a good rinse, he could _feel_ her smirking, and it didn't help his mood one bit.

 _Think of Mam and Da, think of Mam and Da…_

Sybbie rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the bacon. Now, how had their grandmother prepared this again? Unfortunately, their mother didn't have a copy of the recipe, or if she did, it wasn't kept in the little recipe box that sat atop the icebox. It was annoying, considering that Sybbie had never made the dish on her own, however she did think she could manage to "pull it off"—after all, she remembered Mrs. Patmore and Daisy singing praises in her ears when she was a child at Downton Abbey, remarking that she was a fast learner, and her "skills" were later complimented and confirmed by her Irish grandmother, who always asked for Sybbie's assistance in the kitchen, whenever she came to visit them, or they visited Dublin. And she did recall, on two separate occasions, being in the kitchen with her grandmother when she made boiled bacon, so surely she could recreate the dish. After all, how difficult could it be? It was simply boiling meat!

In fact, perhaps she should hold off on cooking the bacon, and instead concentrate on baking the cake? That would take longer, and would need time to cool before it could be iced.

"I'm going to start on the cake first," Sybbie announced, more to herself than to her brother. However she might as well have announced it to the entire world, because at that moment, both Colleen and Patricia's heads poked into the kitchen.

"You're going to make the cake?" they asked in unison.

Peter jumped and dropped the knife, causing all of them to jump a little at the loud clatter it made. The twins eyed the knife, and Colleen muttered, "Isn't that too big for chopping vegetables?"

"No!" Peter retorted, a bit too passionately. "Its fine," he muttered, picking the knife up off the floor. "Besides, what would you know? You hardly ever help with—"

"I know that you need to wash that knife after it's fallen onto the floor," Patricia haughtily interrupted, causing her brother to pause mid chop.

Sybbie glared at her brother then. "Peter, don't you dare use that knife without washing it!"

The twins gave their brother a smug look while he muttered several incoherent grumbles about "sisters", before returning to the sink.

Sybbie now turned her attention back to her sisters. "Why aren't you minding Michael?" she hissed.

"He's fine," Patricia assured. "He's just sitting in there, playing with his blocks."

"And you promised that we could make the cake!" Colleen added.

Sybbie frowned. "I never promised—"

"We want to help," Patricia implored. "Please, Sybbie? We've helped Mam with making cakes before, we can do this!"

Sybbie opened her mouth to protest the matter further, but just then, the sound of their youngest brother's wail filled the house. "Oh Lord," Sybbie groaned, gave her younger sisters a nasty look, before rushing out of the kitchen to see whatever was the matter with Michael. No sooner had she left, the twins turned their attention to the table in front of them.

"Right, we need eggs, flour, sugar—"

"A large mixing bowl and a spoon—"

"What are you doing!?" Peter interrupted.

Both Colleen and Patricia exchanged a look before rolling their eyes and shaking their heads. "What does it look like we're doing?" they muttered in unison.

Peter's eyes widened as he watched them go about the kitchen to retrieve the items they had just been naming. "Sybbie said—"

"Actually, she _didn't_ say, because Michael started crying," Colleen pointed out.

"And he'll probably keep crying unless Sybbie rocks him," Patricia added. "We all know he likes her best anyway."

Peter frowned. "Do you even know what you're doing?"

"Of course!" the twins answered in unison once more, while pulling a chair up to one of the cabinets where all of the baking spices were kept. Peter paused in his chopping and watched warily as Patricia climbed the chair (which wobbled a bit) and began to hand items down to Colleen.

"Sugar, flour…did Mam use baking powder?" Patricia asked.

Colleen frowned. "I thought it was baking soda?"

"What's the difference?" Patricia asked.

"I don't know," Colleen said with a shrug. "They're both white, like flour, and they both have the word 'baking' in front of them."

"We should probably use both, then," Patricia concluded, and proceeded to pass the items to her sister.

Peter shook his head and groaned.

"OH!" Patricia gasped, a big grin spreading across her face. "There IS cocoa powder up here!"

"Oh good!" Colleen grinned. "Bring it down, bring it down!"

"I'm trying…" Patricia muttered, stretching her arm up as high as it would go, the tips of her toes teetering on the chair as she tried to reach for the tin which naturally was on the highest shelf in the spice cabinet.

Peter's face paled as he watched his sister—or rather, the chair on which she was standing—begin to wobble out from under her. It was at that moment that Sybbie reentered the kitchen, holding a fussy Michael in her arms, and let out a high-pitched gasp, causing Colleen to jump and Patricia to screech, which quickly turned into a scream as her balance was completely lost and she would have plummeted down to the kitchen floor if Peter hadn't dropped what he was doing, and rushed forward to catch his sister and break her fall.

…Which he did. Only there was no one to break _his_ fall.

"Umph!" Peter groaned in pain as the full weight of his sister crashed down on top of him. If that wasn't enough, both he and Patricia were suddenly blanketed with a thick covering of…

"Oh no!" Patricia gasped, scrambling off Peter, not even bothering to see if he was alright. She was more concerned for her precious cocoa powder…which now covered the both of them.

"It's ruined!" Patricia wailed, and actually looked as if she were going to burst into tears over the loss of the powder.

Peter grunted something under his breath before finally managing to get up off the floor. "Oh, I'm fine by the way!" he sarcastically muttered, while wiping the brown powder off his arms.

"Oh shut up, Peter!" Colleen hissed, before wrapping her arm around Patricia in hopes to soothe her weeping twin.

Peter's mouth fell open and he would have delivered a nasty retort had Sybbie not lifted her voice then.

"WHAT IN GOD'S NAME—!"

The twins gasped; they had never heard their sister swear like that before! But before Sybbie could continue with her rage, Michael let out another wail, which quickly became an ear-splitting shriek. Sybbie groaned and cupped her baby brother's head, jostling him a bit her arms to soothe him, which didn't seem to be having much success.

"I don't think he wants to be held," Colleen offered, giving her sister what she no doubt thought was a helpful smile, but despite its intention, the smile was not returned.

"Clean. This. Up. NOW!" Sybbie ordered in short, crisp words. No one dared to argue with her, not when she looked as if she might burn a hole through them with her eyes alone! Colleen went to grab a mop, while Patricia went to fill a bucket. As for Peter, Sybbie turned her fierce gaze to him and promptly ordered him to go and clean himself up at once.

"Why are you upset with me?" he defended. "It's not like I—"

"Did you try to stop them?" Sybbie hissed, still jostling Michael whose tears were growing fatter.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Do you think they would listen to me?"

Sybbie wasn't in the mood. "Go wash up and then get back down here to help clean up!" she ordered, turning her attention back to her sisters and ending the conversation then and there. Peter sighed and shook his head, which revealed even more cocoa powder. It was a revelation that wasn't missed by his sister, either.

"Wait!" Sybbie called, stopping Peter from leaving the kitchen.

"I thought you wanted me to go wash up?" he groaned in annoyance.

"You'll get cocoa all over the floor!" she grumbled.

"No I won't—"

"Yes, you will! It's falling from your head as we speak!"

With that, Sybbie grabbed a dish towel and flung it at her brother. "Put that on," she ordered.

Peter looked confused. "What?"

"Put it on your head!"

He looked at her as if she had gone mad. Put a dish towel…on his head?

"It will keep the powder from getting everywhere," Sybbie explained, utterly exasperated.

"But what about his clothes?" Colleen piped up.

"Yeah, he'll get powder everywhere from his clothes too," Patricia added.

"No thanks to you!" Peter retorted.

"Quiet," Sybbie snapped. She looked down at her brother in a way that filled him with dread. "They're right," she said with a sigh. "You need to take your clothes off here."

Peter's eyes practically bulged out of his skull. "WHAT!?"

"Your shirt and trousers are covered in cocoa powder!" Sybbie all but shouted. "You'll leave a trail all the way up to the loo."

"No, I—"

"Peter!" Sybbie cut him off. "Take your clothes off and leave them here." She was leaving no room for argument, and yet he still couldn't help himself.

"I'm not taking my clothes off in front of you lot!" he snapped, his face growing hot especially as he heard his younger sisters giggle. However, their giggling came to a stop when Sybbie sent them a glare that Peter had no doubt would freeze hell itself.

"For heaven's sake, Peter, you're our brother!"

"Exactly!"

"PETER LIAM BRANSON!" Sybbie barked his full name that all of them shrinking, even Michael. "You will not leave this kitchen in those clothes…understand?"

He hated when his sister got like this, all high and mighty, but at the same time, he didn't dare push her further. He swallowed his pride and looked over Sybbie's shoulder at his younger sisters, glaring at them before muttering, "Tell them to turn around."

Colleen and Patricia looked at they were going to giggle again, but choked back on those giggles after Sybbie threw them another glare. Without a word, the girls turned their backs, though it wasn't missed by Peter that their shoulders were shaking in silent laughter.

"She'll make you do the same," Peter muttered at Patricia's back.

Patricia started to turn her head to no doubt throw a retort at her brother, but Sybbie barked her name, and she quickly snapped her head back. "Go on," Sybbie ordered, and Peter groaned, turning his own back on his sister as he started to remove his clothes. Sybbie continued to bounce Michael in her arms, her tone becoming softer in an effort to calm the youngest Branson, however based on the looks she was sending her brother, Peter knew that if he didn't hurry up, she would march over to him and remove his clothes herself. He was humiliated enough as it was.

"Just leave them on the floor," Sybbie told him after he peeled his shirt off and began to unbuckle his trousers. He sighed and did just that, stripping down to his drawers and wrapping his arms around himself, the kitchen suddenly freezing (or was that because of his sister?) "Alright, go wash up," Sybbie instructed, her tone a little less harsh, but still every bit as firm as before. He didn't have to be told twice; Peter turned on his heel and was ready to fly out of the kitchen, but Sybbie stopped him just before he managed to leave.

"Oi!" she called out, causing him to freeze and look warily over his shoulder at her. The dish towel from earlier suddenly hit him in the face. "Cover your head!"

Beyond humiliated, Peter fled the kitchen, a towel draped over his head, and the echo of his younger sisters' laughter ringing in his ears. If it were any other day, he'd be tempted to retreat to his room and not come out until Monday morning. But his determination that his parents have a happy Valentine's Day gave him the strength he needed to return to the kitchen with his head held high.

That…and the fact that he heard Patricia squeak indignantly when Sybbie barked that she do likewise, and strip out of her own cocoa-covered clothes right then and there.

* * *

Later, upon looking back over the afternoon of their adventures in the kitchen, the Branson children would agree that the incident involving the cocoa-powder was just the tip of the iceberg to all that had taken place. After both Peter and Patricia cleaned themselves up (and Colleen too, for good measure, though not nearly as thoroughly as her other siblings), Sybbie became even more of a hardened general, muttering that she couldn't trust them based on what had happened, and it didn't take long for their eldest sister to get on the younger Branson children's nerves.

It also didn't help that poor Michael wouldn't stop fussing. With so much excitement going on all around him, the youngest Branson refused to fall asleep. If he thought someone was taking him to put him down in his cot, he would start to scream. But by that same token, he didn't want to be held either. He squirmed in the arms of whoever was holding him, pounding his little fists against their shoulder, attempting to reach for whatever item they were holding, be it a mixing spoon, butcher knife, or potato peeler. He was clearly fascinated by everything happening and no doubt in his young mind, assumed it was all for him.

"Can someone take him?" Patricia groaned, desperately trying to pass her brother to another of her siblings. "Please? He—ow, Michael stop that!" she hissed as Michael grabbed hold of her hair and gave it a vicious tug. "Peter, can you—"

"No," Peter cut her off before she could even finish her sentence. "I'm peeling potatoes! I need both hands."

Patricia groaned. "You've been doing that for ages! Come on, take Michael."

Peter shook his head, not even lifting his eyes to her. "Pass him off to Colleen," he muttered.

"I'm working on decorations!" Colleen protested, her voice coming from the front parlor. It got to the point when Colleen couldn't handle Sybbie's orders, and announced (with a bit of a huff) that she was going to work on decorations, and before her older sister could say otherwise, promptly flounced out of the kitchen.

"He can't be with Colleen," Patricia explained. "He tries to tear the valentines and eat the glue." Peter just rolled his eyes.

"Sybbie!" Patricia wailed, hoping their older sister would come to her aid. "Tell Peter to take Michael!"

"I told you, I'm peeling potatoes!"

"Both of you, HUSH!" Sybbie growled, though it sounded more like an exhausted groan at this point. She was concentrating very hard on the bacon she was…attempting…to boil.

Despite her search, Sybbie had been unable to find any traces of a recipe for boiled bacon, but kept muttering over and over that it didn't matter, it was a simple recipe, and all that it required was placing the bacon in a large pot, filling it with water, and bringing it to a boil! Simple!

But for something that wasn't meant to be very difficult, it was trying the eldest Branson child's patience. The water had become quite…frothy…and the bacon didn't look right. Not right at all. In fact, it looked downright unappealing. And it filled the kitchen with an aroma that caused the younger Branson siblings to gag. Even Michael had scrunched up his little face at the smell.

Something clearly wasn't right, and that was when Colleen decided to show-off her knowledge in the subject of science, by declaring that the bacon was too salty, hence why the water was frothing so quickly.

Sybbie didn't appreciate Colleen's answer (or rather, Colleen's tone), and ordered her sister to start the washing-up (the pile of dishes in the sink was starting to overflow). That was when Colleen decided to leave the kitchen and work on valentines.

"It's still frothing!" Sybbie muttered in exasperation. "I've changed the water twice—it shouldn't be doing this!"

"Maybe Colleen should come back and cook—"

"NO!" Sybbie snarled, cutting off Patricia's suggestion. She was her father's daughter; her Branson pride was getting the better of her.

"Cay, cay, cay…" Michael babbled, his little arms stretching out towards the oven.

Patricia groaned in an attempt to adjust her little brother. "You want to see the cake, Michael?" she asked.

"Cay! Cay! Cay!" Michael confirmed, clapping his little hands in excitement.

Patricia complied, hoping perhaps that by doing this little act, it would be enough to calm Michael down so he could finally be put down. Grunting, she knelt down on the floor in front of the oven, doing her best not to drop her little brother.

"Careful!" Peter cautioned, watching his sister and little brother nervously. "Don't let him touch the oven door, its hot!"

"I know," Patricia groaned irritably, but a frown settled over her face. She was kneeling right in front of the oven, and yet…there didn't seem to be any heat emanating from it…

Tentatively, Patricia placed her hand against the oven door, ready to snap it back in case she found it to be burning hot, but instead let out a gasp at how…COLD…it was!

"Sybbie! SYBBIE!" Patricia called out, releasing Michael then and letting him crawl away at long last. Sybbie was shaken from her concentration, but before scolding her sister, realized something wasn't right, and her expression became one of concern.

"What is it? What's—did you burn yourself!?" Sybbie demanded, reaching forward and grasping Patricia's arm for inspection.

"No, no, I'm alright, but the oven! It's COLD!"

All eyes went to the oven then: Patricia, Sybbie, Peter—even Colleen, who had rushed back into the kitchen at the sound of her twin's distress. They stared at the oven, as if expecting it to speak on its own. Peter rose from his chair and moved towards it, but Sybbie stopped him, silently lifting a trembling hand in the air…before slowly placing it against the oven door.

"Oh no…" she whispered, her palm flattening against the oven. Before anyone else could utter a word, Sybbie was grasping the handle and pulling the oven door open…and was greeted by a cold pan full of raw cake dough.

"I don't understand…" Patricia whispered, her eyes never leaving the cake pan as Sybbie pulled it out. "Why…why didn't it…?"

"The flame's gone out…" Sybbie whispered, answering her sister's question.

Patricia frowned and looked back at her other siblings. "But…but it's working perfectly fine on the stove—"

The children all jumped at a loud crashing sound, their heads whipping to the other end of the kitchen, where Michael sat—or rather…was _standing_ , having grasped the chair Peter had previously been occupying.

"He's standing!" Colleen gasped.

"He's broken a dish!" Patricia cried, pointing at the ground that was now littered with fragments of broken china, the very thing responsible for the crashing sound. Michael didn't seem the least bit bothered; he was just grinning proudly for having hoisted himself up onto his own two feet!

"How did he…?" the question died in Peter's throat and both he and his sisters sucked in a breath as they noticed something grasped tightly in Michael's little fist.

 _The end of the tablecloth._ He was holding onto the end of the tablecloth, and if he gave it just the slightest tug…

"Michael…" Patricia knelt down on the ground. "Michael, let go of the tablecloth…"

"Quiet!" Peter hissed. "You're going to scare him!"

"I am not!" Patricia argued.

Michael didn't look the least bit scared, not at all. If anything, he looked downright devilish.

He waved his little fist, the one holding onto the tablecloth, and again his siblings sucked in a breath altogether, which clearly amused the youngest Branson, as he giggled at the worried expressions they all wore.

"BOOM!" Michael giggled, his fist lifting and jostling the items atop the table just slightly.

"Michael…" Sybbie attempted to reason, her voice low and firm, trying as hard as she could to imitate their mother at that point. "Michael Samuel Branson—you will let go of that tablecloth RIGHT NOW, or…" Sybbie's voice came to a halt as Michael lifted his fist, causing a dish to teeter. But that wasn't what had them all staring in horror. Because near that dish was the cutting board Peter had been using earlier...which the long, sharp butcher knife still remained.

"Somebody stop him," Peter muttered under his breath.

"That's what we're TRYING to do!" Patricia hissed.

"Michael…" Colleen attempted, her voice a bit more soothing than Sybbie's. "Michael, if you let go of the tablecloth, I'll let you help me make valentines!"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Really? That's the best you can do?"

"I don't see you helping!" Colleen snapped back.

"Oh for heaven's sake!" Sybbie groaned, thrusting the cold cake pan into Patricia's unsuspecting hands before rising to her full height. She was done playing this "game" with her baby brother. "Michael Samuel Branson—" she began again, her hands reaching forward to grab a hold of him and remove the tablecloth from his fist.

But before she could do any of that, Michael's devilish grin disappeared, and was quickly replaced by a look of terror, his sister resembling an avenging angel, coming down to punish him. A wail escaped his lips, and everybody shrieked as he lifted his little hands to cover his face, thus tugging the tablecloth in the process…

Peter leapt forward, practically jumping on top of the table to keep the cutting board and butcher knife from falling. He managed to grasp the handle of the knife before it went clattering to the floor (or worse, landing atop his brother), but just barely. The knife did end up slicing the fabric of the tablecloth, but better cutting the tablecloth than one of them! The cutting board, however…well, that was another story.

Several dishes, as well as the cutting board, came crashing to the kitchen floor, and even though Michael had looked genuinely terrified of his older sister, he all but leapt into her arms when everything started to hit the floor. Everybody gasped and winced as the kitchen floor soon became littered with broken china and raw vegetables. What Peter had yet to add to the pot on the stovetop, now lay ruined on the ground. And if that weren't enough, the loud crash had caused all of them to jump, including Patricia, who was still holding the cake pan…though not so much the raw cake.

That, along with the ruined vegetables and the broken china, also littered the kitchen floor.

They all stood in dead silence, staring at the aftermath of the disaster before them. The only one to make any noise was Michael, who uttered the one word that best summed up everything: "BOOM!"

Indeed, it looked as if a bomb had gone off.

* * *

"Valentine's Day is ruined!" Colleen wailed, tears of frustration and sadness dripping down her face.

"It is not!" Peter growled, perhaps a bit harsher than necessary, but he didn't want to believe his sister's words for a second. "All we have to do is…is clean up this mess—"

"Mess!?" Colleen cried. _"Mess!?_ This isn't like cleaning our rooms, Peter! LOOK AT THIS PLACE!"

"I KNOW!" Peter snapped back. "And crying about it isn't going to help!"

"Stop yelling at her!" Patricia defended. "This is all your fault, Peter."

"MY FAULT!?" Peter sputtered.

"You shouldn't have been using the big butcher knife in the first place," Patricia scolded.

Peter blinked, perplexed by his sister's reasoning. "How is that in any way connected to…?" He stopped himself, knowing that to try and make sense of his sister's arguments was the path to madness. "If ANYONE is to blame, it's YOU!" he snarled.

"ME!?" Patricia gasped, looking genuinely hurt by her brother's accusation.

"You were supposed to be minding Michael!" Peter accused. "But you put him down—"

"You shouldn't have left all those things on the table!"

"You shouldn't have brought him back into the kitchen! He should have stayed with Colleen in the parlor—"

"He kept trying to tear the valentines!" Colleen defended.

 _"And_ eat the glue," Patricia added. She folded her arms across her chest and glared back at her brother. "And I TOLD you, to take him! I told you that I couldn't keep holding him, but you wouldn't listen to me!"

Now her lip was quivering, and Peter groaned. He did not need the twins emotionally manipulating him with their tears.

"I was cutting vegetables—"

"How long does it take someone to cut up vegetables?" Patricia asked Colleen in exasperation.

"I didn't see YOU helping!" Peter growled.

"How could I? I was trying to keep Michael out of trouble!"

"Yeah, and you didn't do a very good job, did you?"

Patricia gasped in offense, and once again her lip started to tremble. Peter groaned, guilt quickly snapping at his ankles as he saw tears fill his sister's eyes. He knew he should apologize—he knew he shouldn't be fighting with his sisters to begin with. This was all so pointless! They were tired, they were frustrated—

"Why'd you stop sweeping?" Sybbie demanded, reentering the kitchen with a newly changed Michael in her arms. Of all of them, Sybbie looked the worst for wear; her hair, which she had previously pulled back before they began their work in the kitchen, was falling in sweaty tangles down the side of her face. She adjusted Michael, who was squirming in her arms, wanting very badly to get back down onto the floor. "Right," Sybbie groaned. "Someone has to take him somewhere—I don't care where, but he can't stay in here with us."

Colleen and Patricia looked to Peter and without missing a beat, instructed, "you take him, Peter."

Peter looked affronted by the order. "Why do I—?"

"Because both Colleen and Patricia have done their share and it's your turn," Sybbie answered, leaving no room for argument. She plopped Michael into his brother's arms and that was that. "Take him to your room, let him roll around on your bed or…something. He's got a clean nappy, he should be fine. Hopefully he'll fall right to sleep."

Michael made a face at hearing that word. "No, no, no, no, no—"

"Peter, please," Sybbie groaned, one hand rising to cup her brow as if by doing so would keep the contents of her head from spilling forth. Peter sighed and glanced over his shoulder at the twins. He was the second oldest, as well as the oldest boy! And this whole meal had been HIS idea! Why was he being the one stuck with—

"Thank you," Sybbie told him, surprising him when she bent to kiss his cheek, before kissing Michael's brow. "Right, now—you two." She turned to the twins then, whose satisfied smiles were starting to fade. "I need one of you on washing up duty, while the other finishes cleaning up this mess."

"But—"

"Look at that sink!" Sybbie pointed an angry finger at the overflowing sink. "We can't clean the dishes we need to until we clean the ones that already in that sink—clean and dry! So one of you, I don't care who, needs to get started on that, while the other finishes sweeping up this mess."

Colleen and Patricia made faces, before turning to their sister. "What are you going to be doing?" they asked, their hands going to their hips and fixing Sybbie with a look.

Sybbie scowled at them. "What do you THINK I'm going to be doing? Trying to salvage what's left of this dinner, obviously!"

The twins looked a bit puzzled. "But the oven isn't working!" Colleen announced, as if Sybbie wasn't aware.

"And don't we need to make more cake?" Patricia asked, her eyes wearily going to the floor where lumps of raw dough still lay.

"There's enough in the pan, it will make due," Sybbie told them, though she didn't sound as positive as she was trying to. "And the light's simply gone out inside the oven…all I need to do is light—"

"Is that safe?" Peter interrupted. He (and Michael) were lingering in the kitchen doorway.

Sybbie sighed and rolled her eyes. "Its fine, I've done it before, Mam showed me, now will you PLEASE go and take him someplace that isn't here?" she pleaded, gesturing to Michael who was beginning to squirm even more.

Despite Sybbie's superior knowledge to the workings of their family kitchen, Peter still didn't look very comfortable. He glanced at his younger sisters, who were taking a cautious step back. Sybbie rolled her eyes and opened the oven door, muttering to herself (and to them) that she had everything perfectly under control. Peter bit his lip and the twins braced themselves as they watched the oldest Branson strike a match and…

Nothing.

Well, not "nothing", because _something_ did happen. "Ta da!" Sybbie announced, grinning proudly as she lit the pilot light inside the oven, and the oven began to roar with life. "There, you see?" Her grin was growing wider by the second. "Now we can finally start to bake this bloody cake."

Peter and the twins exchanged a look before turning back to their sister and actually smiling the first genuine, happy smiles since they had started this adventure. Finally something GOOD was taking place!

"Peter?" He glanced up at his sister, who was giving him a firm look. He had lingered too long, so he mutely nodded his head and took a squirming Michael with him, out of the kitchen. Sybbie then turned back to the twins, and they too nodded their heads, though their smiles of relief quickly disappeared as they surveyed the work they would have to conquer. Colleen moved to the sink (rather slowly) and Patricia picked up her room and began to sweep again (also rather slowly), while Sybbie surveyed what was salvageable of the vegetables. "Perhaps if we bake the potatoes…" she murmured, more to herself than to her sisters. She opened the oven and popped the potatoes in, closing it and turning the heat up a little higher to get them cooking. "I think you're right!" she announced to the twins. "I think I will make a little more cake to fill the pan—"

Sybbie's speech came to a halt when a strange, clunking sound started to come…from the oven?

Peter hadn't even made it up the stairs when he heard the sound. With Michael still in his arms, he came racing back around the corner and poked his head inside the kitchen. "Is that coming from—?"

He never finished his sentence.

The only good thing about what happened next was that Sybbie had the foresight to remove the pot that contained the bacon she had been attempting to boil, from the stove top. The disaster that followed may have been even worse, had the bacon remained.

Suddenly black clouds of smoke began to billow from the oven's sides. Then, like a dragon breathing fire, the oven door burst open with a giant crash, and flames shot out, charring the cabinets that surrounded the oven. The twins screamed and Sybbie stumbled backwards. "PETER!" Sybbie shouted as she scrambled back to her feet. "GET MICHAEL OUT!" She grabbed a nearby dish towel and tried with all her might to use it in an effort to smother the flames, but instead of putting the fire out, the fire took hold of the dish towel, and Sybbie had to let it go.

"WATER!" Peter shouted across the room to the twins, his body doing his best to shield Michael from the fiery sight. Despite their frightened scream, Colleen and Patricia seemed to come out of their terrified stupor, and quickly turned on the faucet and began filling various pots with water, before tossing the contents at the oven. The oven hissed in protest, but it was doing the trick. They kept filling and refilling the pots, and Sybbie took a new dish towel, one that had been dampened, and began to use it to smother the remaining flames that were smoldering the cabinets. She had a great deal more success this time.

Everyone was sputtering and coughing, and soon the orange flames that had filled the small space of the Branson kitchen were gone completely. All that remained were clouds of smoke and the rancid smell of charred wood.

"Open…open…a…a window!" Sybbie coughed. The twins nodded their heads, and soon began to open every window that they could. Peter did the same, clutching Michael and going through the parlor and opening every window, shivering as blasts of cold wind filled the room, but grateful for the fresh air that filled his lungs.

Peter turned to the kitchen entrance at the sounds of his sisters (specifically the sounds of their coughing). Sybbie looked utterly and completely exhausted, and without a word, reached for Michael, who thankfully didn't put up a fuss about his oldest sister's desire to hold him. Much to Peter's surprise, Colleen and Patricia walked right up to him and wrapped their arms around him. He didn't hesitate to return the hug, and even held an arm out to bring Sybbie and Michael into their circle. The Branson siblings all held one another, and took several long, deep, reassuring breaths, clearing their lungs from the horrendous smoke.

"We're alright…" Peter found himself murmuring to his sisters. Yes, they were fine, but the same could not be said for the meal…or the kitchen.

With heavy hearts and weary feet, the Branson children turned back towards the kitchen and peered inside, surveying the damage and groaning at the sight. The cocoa powder, the broken dishes; both of those incidents were nothing compared to what had just happened.

No one dared say a word, not even Michael. They just stared at the damage and silently wept. Any hope Peter had for one day being allowed to play hockey for the school (or ever play again) lay dashed upon the floor, along with all the broken china. The same could be said for Sybbie's hope of ever going to the cinema again with her friends (let alone on a date with Lars). But what did any of that matter? Their parents' marriage was depending on this dinner! And it had all been ruined.

A gasp escaped Colleen's lips as she whipped her head towards the door. The other children heard it too, the slow, creaking sound as door slowly opened. With pale faces, the waited, dread filling their very bones as they waited for the inevitable horrified gasps, followed by the angry shouts, demanding to know what had happened…

"Sybbie?"

Sybbie's knees almost buckled from beneath her. "Lars?" she managed to choke, before pushing herself away from the rest and stumbling towards the door where Lars was slowly entering.

Lars heard her voice and turned his head in her direction. "Hey, I apologize for coming in like this, but I noticed the door was slightly ajar, and I thought I saw…smoke…from my window…" his voice died in his throat as looked at all of them, their singed clothes and their soot-colored faces. "What happened?" he gasped, and then looked at Sybbie. "Are you alright?"

Sybbie's face crumpled then and a great, gasping sob escaped her lips. She sagged against Lars, who didn't hesitate; he wrapped a steadying arm around her and helped take the weight of Michael, who began to grin and giggle as if nothing had happened.

Sybbie buried her face against Lars' shoulder, her tears soaking his shirt, but he didn't protest. He blushed, more because the other Bransons were watching them, but he remained where he was, holding Michael in one arm, and awkwardly trying to soothe Sybbie with his other. He looked over at Peter and the twins and asked them what he had just asked Sybbie. "Are you alright? All of you?"

Peter groaned and nodded his head. "We're fine, but…" he glanced over his shoulder, back at the kitchen, and a low, disappointed groan filled the air.

Eventually, Lars learned the entire story. How the Branson siblings were trying to make a Valentine's Day surprise for their parents, but how one disaster after another kept happening, ultimately resulting in the unexplained kitchen fire.

"And now Mam and Da are going to get a divorce and it will be all our fault!" Patricia wailed, in conclusion.

Lars frowned at this. "Why would your parents get a divorce?"

Sybbie groaned and lifted her face from Lars' shoulder. "They're NOT getting a divorce!" she hissed, sounding a bit more like her old self.

"But they haven't kissed for days, and—"

"Hang on, hang on…" Lars attempted to soothe the troubled waters before an argument took root. "When are Mr. and Mrs. Branson due to be home?"

The twins looked to Peter then, as if he knew the answer. "I think…I think they're hoping to be back no later than seven…" he murmured, trying to best recall what he had overheard his mother and father say to one another that morning at breakfast.

Lars nodded his head. "Alright…well, that doesn't give us much time, but why don't we go next door to my house, and see what can be done at the very least about this dinner you were hoping to make."

"But—"

"It'll be alright," Lars assured a distraught-looking Sybbie. He smiled warmly at her then, and a deep blush colored her cheeks. The younger Branson siblings simply rolled their eyes. Lars blushed himself, and then repeated those words again, this time to Peter and the twins, though they didn't look anywhere near as relieved (or believing) as Sybbie did.

"But what about the kitchen?" Peter asked. "We still need to clean—"

"I know," Lars sighed. "But right now, I think it's wise if we all get out of the house, to clean up at the very least."

Despite their misgivings about leaving the house in the current state in which it lay, the Branson siblings agreed, all of them so exhausted after the afternoon's events. They followed Lars out of the house, Michael contently laying in his arms, Sybbie walking beside him. "I suppose now I know why you weren't able to join us," he murmured to her.

It dawned on Sybbie then that Lars wasn't at the cinema with the rest of their friends. "But…but I thought you were going—?"

"Well, I was, but…" he looked down at his feet somewhat bashfully. "But when you said you couldn't come, I thought…well, what's the point in going?"

Sybbie stared at him, and her face grew hot and pink as the weight of his words settled over her. Behind them, Colleen and Patricia giggled before making little lip-smacking sounds, which promptly earned them an icy glare from their sister.

* * *

In the end, the Branson Valentine meal wasn't a one of Irish boiled bacon and vegetables. Instead, it was Swedish meatballs in a thick cream sauce, served alongside mashed potatoes and some kind of tiny berries that Lars explained was his grandmother's famous "lingonberry jam".

With Mrs. Magnusson's help (who was feeling much, much better from earlier in the week) the Branson children were able to make a quick meal for their parents, while Lars and Mr. Magnusson, as well as a few other friends and neighbors, went next door to inspect the damage in the kitchen. Sybbie and Peter thought perhaps they should go and help with the cleaning up, but Mrs. Magnusson shushed them, told them they had had enough adventures for one day in that kitchen, and if they wanted to clean-up so badly, they could help her with the washing up after finishing their meal. None of the children protested.

At roughly half-past six, Sybil Branson began walking up the road that would lead to her house, but paused when she saw Lars and Mr. Magnusson waiting for her on the front steps. A chill ran down her spine at the sight of them, worry for her children suddenly filling her, but they were quick to assure her that everything was fine, the children were fine, they were next door, and as they were saying this, Tom came around the corner, holding something behind his back, but his eager steps quickly slowing at the strange meeting taking place in front of his house.

From next door, Sybbie, Peter, Colleen, and Patricia watched with wary hearts as their parents were shown inside the house. They hadn't seen what Lars or Mr. Magnusson and their other neighbors had been able to do in terms of clean-up, but even if they had swept up every last bit of broken china, there was still the issue of the charred cabinets and broken oven. They waited, dread filling them more and more with each passing minute, until finally their parents emerged, their eyes hollow and their expressions…unreadable, though they were positive that it wasn't good. "Now we're in for it," Colleen muttered under her breath.

Sybbie swallowed and held her hand out to her siblings. "Come on," she encouraged, and they numbly nodded their heads, before taking each other's hands and filing into the Magnusson's parlor to face the music.

The door opened and they sucked in a deep breath, prepared for the angry shouts—but instead were greeted with an exhaled, "oh thank God!" and found themselves enfolded in their parents arms.

"Are you alright? Let me look at you," Sybil insisted, her hands cupping her children's cheeks and inspecting each and every one.

"Where's Michael?" Tom asked, swallowing the emotional lump that filled his throat as he ran his own hands through his son's and daughters' hair. Oh the irony, that now after the eventful afternoon, Michael Branson was finally sleeping soundly in Lars' bedroom.

Peter glanced at his sisters, and saw the tears filling their eyes. "Mam, Da…" he managed to choke, feeling the need to say something. "We're very sorry—"

"I know, son, I know," Tom assured him, cupping Peter's head and bringing his forehead close so he could kiss it. "I know you are."

"It was a terrible accident, and I'm just grateful that none of you are hurt," Sybil managed to gasp, despite her own tears.

"We just wanted to give you a happy Valentine's Day…" Patricia managed to blubber.

"Please don't get a divorce!" Colleen wailed.

Tom and Sybil stiffened at their daughter's words. "Divorce?" they both murmured in confusion. They looked at each other, and then back at their children. "Why…why would you think…?"

"Because you haven't kissed in several days," Peter mumbled, feeling a bit embarrassed by his sister's outburst, but at the same time, needing to voice his own fear at the lack of affection he had witnessed recently between his parents. "You both had a big fight, and then you didn't touch or hug or…or kiss…" he looked down at his feet. "You always kiss…"

Tom and Sybil were at a complete loss for words. They looked at each other, then at their children again. "Oh…oh my darlings," Sybil whispered, drawing their tearful attention back to her. "Your father and I _are not_ getting a divorce."

"That's what I told them," Sybbie muttered in a voice of embarrassed annoyance.

Sybil smiled at her oldest, before looking back at the younger children. "Your sister is right."

"And it's not because we're Catholic," Tom added, giving his family a wink that did have them smiling. "Aye, your mother and I were short-tempered this week—and that's nobody's fault," he added quickly, which did earn a small giggle, as well as a little eye roll from his wife. "But…you are right, however…"

The children froze at their father's words. "W-w-what do you mean?" Peter whispered.

Tom winked at his son, which did put the boy at ease. "You're right, Peter, I haven't kissed your mother properly these last few days…to which I deeply, deeply regret."

Sybil blushed and pressed her lips together in a rather bashful smile. "I regret it too," she whispered, looking up at him beneath the veil of her eyelashes.

Tom smiled tenderly at his wife, before turning and reaching for something he had tossed on a nearby chair upon entering the Magnusson's house. He handed it to Sybil…and the children gasped as Sybil pulled back the newspaper to reveal a small bouquet of red roses. "Oh, Tom, you shouldn't—"

"Aye, I should have," he softly interrupted. "It's Valentine's Day…and you're my English rose," he whispered, his arms already moving around her. "Beautiful, enchanting…and with thorns to match."

Sybil groaned, but before she could utter a retort to his cheeky comment, he pulled her close and covered her lips with his own, earning a cheer from his children as he kissed his wife. When their lips parted, Sybil let out a long, shaky breath, and leaned her forehead against his. Tom smiled, gave her lips a little peck, before whispering, "Happy Valentine's Day, love."

Sybil lifted her eyes and smiled up at him, her own shimmering with loving tears. "Happy Valentine's Day," she murmured back, before weaving her arms around his neck and pulling him back to her lips.

"Ah hem…"

Tom and Sybil parted, blushing deeply and meeting Mrs. Magnusson's knowing smile. "The children did help me with making a special meal for you both—Valentine's Day, Swedish style."

Colleen and Patricia began tugging on their mother and father's hands, urging them to come into the dining room where candles were lit, wine had been poured, and the food awaited them.

"Oh my…" Sybil gasped upon seeing the feast before them. "I hope you all helped Mrs. Magnusson clean up."

"Yes, Mam," the children quickly answered.

"Good," Tom murmured, as he held out a chair for Sybil. "It will be good practice for when you help back home."

A weary sigh filled the room. "Yes, Da."

The children soon learned that Mr. Magnusson and their neighbors had been able to finish clearing away the debris that littered the kitchen floor, as well as scrape off the charred wood from the cabinets. Mr. Magnusson had an oven in his bakery that was similar to the one the Bransons' had, and was sure within a day or two, he could have it working again. New cabinets would have to be ordered for the kitchen, but thanks to the story Tom had been working hard to cover that whole week, he would have some extra money coming from _The Globe_ that could go towards that project. And the children already knew that they would be spending the next several weekends painting and cleaning the kitchen until it was spotless and you would never know that a fire had taken place.

"You'll also be helping Mr. and Mrs. Magnusson with a few chores around their home," Tom announced, giving the children a look that dared them to argue otherwise. Of course they didn't; they knew they owed the Magnusson's a great deal for all their help in saving the day.

It wasn't the private, romantic meal the children had originally imagined, but in its own strange way, it was better. The children acted as "waiters", going back and forth to retrieve anything for their parents, while at the same time, regaling Tom and Sybil with stories about their week at school, and all their plans for the evening's surprise. When the meal was over, much to the children's joy, Lars entered the kitchen holding a cake from his father's bakery. But no one was more delighted than Colleen and Patricia, who exclaimed upon seeing it, "It's CHOCOLATE!"

"Well of course it's chocolate!" Mr. Magnusson laughed. "One has to have chocolate for Valentine's Day!"

Sybbie and Peter exchanged a groan.

 _ **THE END**_


End file.
